


We are headed North

by roadsoftrial



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, slowly falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 02:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial/pseuds/roadsoftrial
Summary: Cor had accepted his lot in life.Nyx decides it's not enough.





	We are headed North

**Author's Note:**

> My gift for [trash_obsessive](https://twitter.com/trash_obsessive)  
> for the FFXValentine exchange!  
> Happy Valentine's day my dear, I hope you like it!!!  
> (beta'd by the sumptuous [calamityera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamityera/pseuds/calamityera)!)

Cor Leonis is not an unreasonable man, not as far as he's concerned. On good days, he can make sense of most things, react, adapt, mostly keep a cool head. On a good day, there are very few things he can’t rationalize, one way or another.

There are still things he has a lot of trouble rationalizing.

Nyx Ulric is one of those things.

The fact that Nyx Ulric is standing in his kitchen in his underwear, Cor's old t-shirt a tinge too big for him and hanging off his shoulders, singing along to the radio, making him breakfast is another one of those things.

He can’t quite explain how it happened—how Nyx Ulric settled so confidently into his life, nor when he became such an intrinsic part of it.

He can’t quite explain why he feels so ok with it, either.

One thing is clear: Nyx Ulric likes Cor Leonis a whole damn lot. Another thing has started to make itself painfully clear: Cor Leonis... feels the same way about him.

He feels a little ridiculous giving in to that thought, like it belongs to teenagers who just shared their first kiss, or normal people who feel things in the appropriate amounts. But he doesn't see the point in denying it to himself, not when Nyx wears his own feelings like an armor.

Cor wasn’t quite sure what Nyx expected from him, at first. After all, he is old and stubborn and angry, and has more demons than hell itself. He doesn’t hate company, but avoids it when he can, because it inevitably becomes too much, because he dreads having to make up a reason to run, before his unease morphs into something worse, something distressing and ugly and unredeemable. He isn’t sure what prompts it, has never taken the time to identify what causes the flick of the switch, but he hates all of it enough to choose loneliness over it.

That flick hasn’t happened when he’s with Nyx, not once in the year they’ve been orbiting each other. He can’t tell whether it's a good thing or cause for concern.

He's not quite sure what Nyx sees in him, if he's honest, but doesn't want to complain, because he’s a little selfish and doesn't want him to stop, doesn’t want him to go.  

Nyx gets him in ways many have tried but always failed. He gets him because they're cut from the same cloth, ripped, hastily sewn back together, full of gashes and tears, unwearable, unsalvageable. It should worry him, but he basks in the feeling that he’s allowed to be as not ok and damaged and broken as he wants, as he really is, without poise or moderation, without having to justify himself. And he might not act out, might not have had any sort of meltdown in a long time, but the simple fact that he _could_ and that it would be ok, is sufficient.

‘Morning, Marshal,’ Nyx says, light and easy, when he hears his footsteps behind him.

Cor slowly crosses the kitchen, follows the long, neat counters with a hand against the cold marble, until he reaches Nyx, who smiles as he does. Nyx doesn’t turn around, continues to lazily stir the pot on the burner in front of him.

Cor leans on the counter and observes from a distance, because that’s what he likes to do, because Nyx is a fascinating creature, as broken and bent out of shape as Cor is, but still capable, somehow, of smiling at will and singing along to sappy love songs on the radio.

Nyx found it odd the first few times he stayed over, the staring and the silence as he went about his morning routine. He told Cor about it, after a while, asked him why he did it. Cor hadn’t found an answer for him, that time, and Nyx hadn’t pushed it.

Nyx has a lot of questions about Cor’s behavior, but they come from a place of care and concern, and sometimes Cor has an answer, other times he shrugs. Sometimes Cor has a reason for doing what he does, other times he does things out of habit, out of superstition, out of inexplicable dread. Nyx always appreciates the response regardless, and Cor is always relieved that he does.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with Nyx’s words, at first, shared so willingly, so easily, when he had surrounded himself with silence for so long. He has learned to see them for what they are, and appreciates that they exist out of love, more than anything else.

He’s accepted that what he feels for Nyx is love, too. It’s love he feels when he watches him carefully braid the thin strands of hair after their morning shower, tucking in the black beads as he does, with deft fingers from years of practice. It’s love he feels when he catches himself laughing as Nyx rants about his day, when their paths cross at the Citadel, forming the hint of a knot in his stomach, when Nyx sees him and waves and throws that devastating smile of his at him, just for him. It’s love he feels every time Nyx fucks him, holding their bodies so close, never close enough, kissing every inch of his skin, tearing him apart, leaving the two of them limp and content and unable to let go of each other as they doze off, falling asleep in a peace they’ve both struggled to find for so long.

It’s almost more than love he feels when Nyx talks about Galahd. It’s almost more than love he feels when Nyx opens up about his home, his family, sparse and always in small bites, when he falls silent after that, curled up at Cor’s side as Cor trails his fingernails against the thin tattooed lines all over his body, careful and light and tender. It’s almost more than love he feels when Nyx shows up at his doorstep after every disastrous assignment, battered and bruised and exhausted and in need of Cor’s arms. It’s almost more than love he feels when he wakes up in the morning to limbs sprawled all over him, when he looks at Nyx’s sleeping face, mouth slightly parted, measuring the rise and fall of his chest, for the long minutes he spends still fast asleep in the dim morning sun.

It’s almost more than love, but he’s not quite sure how to explain that to Nyx.

Nyx didn’t waste time, made it clear very early on what he felt for Cor. He’s started throwing different shades of _I love you_ his way months ago, because that’s what he felt at the time and Nyx feels so strongly about everything that he refuses to hold it hostage. He slowly made Cor understand that words can do more than hurt, slowly pulled him out of his barb-wired fortress, slowly turned his guarded silences into thoughtful quietness, and the difference is thin but they both feel it to their core.

Nyx tells Cor he loves him at least once a day now, and Cor has grown surprisingly fond of hearing it. Cor, who never lets himself believe anyone’s words to be genuine allows himself to believe those three words, a small exception in the grand scheme of things, but a leap across oceans in his eyes, three words that have transformed him in ways that he can almost touch.

It’s been almost a year that Nyx Ulric has waltzed into his life. It wasn’t anything serious, at first. An idea thrown in the air after months of bumping into each other at the Citadel, of lingering stares at the end of joint training sessions, of reluctant conversations that Nyx initiated every time, of begging for a drink _, just one drink, c’mon Marshal, make a guy’s night_ , of easy, too easy conversation over those strong spirit blends the seedy Galadhian bars in the low part of town serve all too readily, of tired, hungry, needy kisses in bathrooms and back alleys, with alcohol and loneliness on their breaths, of a sturdy hand stroking his cock, of Nyx’s release down his throat, quick and easily mistaken for meaningless, months of this unending cycle, week after week, until Cor had finally caved and taken him home and told him to do whatever he wanted.

Nyx had fucked him that night, slowly, pulling at his every string to see what happened when he did, what reaction he could get out of him, whispering filth in his ear as Cor let himself get carried away for the first time in a very long time. Nyx had fucked him, strong and sturdy and affectionate, hands curious and warm, begging him to let it all out, to sing for him, and Cor had found himself uncharacteristically willing to comply. He had come undone when Nyx had asked him to, had told Nyx, breathless and spent, to finish in his mouth, because Cor knew how crazy that drove him, because it was his small way of thanking him.

Cor had told him to do what he wanted that night, so Nyx had fucked him, had fallen asleep in his bed, face buried between Cor’s shoulder blades, holding him with strong, scarred arms, and had never truly left.

‘Oatmeal, Nyx?’

‘Don’t blame me, Marshal, this is all the food you had.’

Cor smirks for a hot second, goes back to looking at the movement of Nyx’s hands.

‘I’ll bring some stuff from home next time,’ Nyx continues, and it takes a second to understand what he’s saying. ‘Make some proper Galadhian breakfast.’

_We can go buy the ingredients after work if you want,_ is what he intends to say.

‘You should move in,’ is what he says instead, in a little more than a whisper, ‘…if you’d like.’

The words come as a surprise to both of them, though they’ve been tucked away in Cor’s throat for a long time, and he’s more surprised that he managed to let them out than he is of their existence. Nyx stares at him with bewildered eyes. Cor can’t and doesn’t try to resist the urge to walk to him and slip an arm around his shoulders, the other pulling at his waist, letting Nyx bury his head in the crook of his neck.

‘Do you mean it? Nyx asks after four deep breaths, his voice muffled by Cor’s shirt.

Cor nods slowly, strengthens his hold.

‘I… I think I’ll do that, then,’ Nyx finally says with a tight voice.

They don’t move, not when the oatmeal begins to stick to the bottom of the pot, not when both their phones go off letting them know they’re running late.

‘You know I love you, yeah?’ Cor whispers in Nyx’s ear, and Nyx nods and lets out a warm, wet, shuddering breath.

Cor doesn’t say those words often, hasn’t told them to many people in his life, but when he does, he means them.

And when he looks at Nyx, who’s trying as best as he can to hold back his tears, holding onto him like he would fall apart if he didn’t, when he presses his lips on his temple, those words are all Cor has on his mind.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (And then Nyx died, the end)  
> (Nyxdeservedbetter2k5ever)
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Comments and kudos wildly appreciated! ♥  
> (come talk to this lonely baby on [tumblr](http://roadsoftrial.tumblr.com/) and [ffxv tumblr](http://thelegendarynoctgar.tumblr.com)!!)


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